


Purchasing Plushies, And Other Things Logan Thought He Would Never Do

by ATouchOfCommonSense



Series: In Which Living With Ghosts Becomes the New Normal [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Human, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is Extra, Everyone Is Gay, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Logic | Logan Sanders-centric, M/M, Mild Language, No One Is Homophobic Tho Don't Worry, Social Anxiety, just like always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24063097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ATouchOfCommonSense/pseuds/ATouchOfCommonSense
Summary: Logan was not in the habit of feeling charitable, especially in the mornings, but somehow he finds himself offering to do the shopping for a group of incorporeal beings.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Series: In Which Living With Ghosts Becomes the New Normal [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730026
Comments: 28
Kudos: 166





	1. An Out of Character Offer

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 2 to the Ghost series! It will make a lot more sense if you read part 1 first. :)
> 
> Hey! The first podfic I did for this series didn't get a lot of attention, so I'm assuming it's not something you guys are interested in. Let me know otherwise!

Logan awoke from what was better characterized as a nap than actual sleep feeling frustrated. Despite his blackout curtains, the light streaming in from under his door was more than enough to signify the time of day. Unfortunately, nobody thought to inform his adrenal glands that they could avoid releasing the cortisol until after six thirty in the bloody morning.

Reaching blindly for his glasses, Logan was startled to find his lenses not on the bedside table where he placed then the night before, but atop his face. He blinked up at the ceiling uncomprehendingly for a few moments before a barrage of memories floated up to his consciousness. Curtains. Ghost. Virgil. Sleep. 

Logan must have fallen asleep with his glasses on after Virgil’s visit. How uncharacteristic of him.

It was time to get back on schedule. After moving, Logan had expected a slight break in routine. Moving was one of the largest and most common stressors of adulthood, after all. The appearance of ghosts, however, was something Logan could not have begun to anticipate. It threw a wrench in his life that he was not expecting, and Logan did not deal well with the unexpected. Being a man of knowledge, things that did not make sense startled Logan into losing sight of his goals and falling out of his structured life.

But Logan would not allow such a thing to happen this time. He would adapt and adjust. He had lost all hope of living a solitary life, but he still had a great many things going right. He owned a beautiful house, had a stable job, and plenty of things to do. He would not allow Patton, Roman, or Virgil to encroach on his perfectly organized and pre-planned life. Perhaps he could even live halfway normally. All they would have to do is stay out of each other’s way.

“Logan!” an annoyingly cheerful voice sang from somewhere outside his room. 

So much for ignoring the issue and hoping it would go away. Logan had half hoped his incorporeal roommates would be solely night dwellers, but it seemed they were set on disturbing him all hours of the day.

“Yes?” Logan replied as pleasantly as he could manage, jumping out of bed and making his way to the closet. If Roman took his response as an invitation into his room (Virgil proved the trio’s lack of personal boundaries last night with his impromptu visit), Logan did not want to be caught in drawstring pajama pants and an oversized t. It was unprofessional, and Logan was nothing if not professional.

“See! I told you he was awake!” Roman declared, loud as ever.

“You probably just woke him up,” Patton responded. “It’s still very early for livings to be awake, you know!”

“Psh. I was awake by six o'clock every morning in my day!”

“You are a terrible liar,” Virgil contributed.

“I take offence to that! I am a great liar!”

“So you were lying, then.”

“I admit nothing! But if I was lying, which I wasn’t, it would have been a superb lie!” Logan was becoming increasingly convinced that Roman could speak in nothing but stentorian declarations.

“Sure.”

“Don’t you ‘sure’ me! I know what I’m talking about! I’ll have you know that I got up early every morning with the first peep of the mourning dove.

“I bet you did that once, ever,” Virgil accused.

“Patton!” Roman cried at a fortississimo. Logan paused in buttoning his shirt to wince. “You believe me, don’t you?”

“Whatever you say, Kiddo.”

“Oh my gosh! You both think I’m lying? Blasphemy! Pure blasphemy.”

At this point, Logan was dressed in something more presentable than sleepwear, and slipped out of his room. The three were congregated in the kitchen. Patton and Roman were sitting at the two-chair dining table, looking for all the world like they belonged on the furniture Logan had placed there just yesterday. Virgil, on the other hand, was sitting on the counter. 

Logan would have expressed his distaste at such a display, but it wasn’t as if Virgil was doing any harm. In fact, Logan was fairly sure Virgil wasn’t touching the counter at all. He looked more like he was floating slightly above. Hundreds of questions popped into his brain before he had the chance to squash them. Logan was no expert, but he was fairly sure at least eighty percent of his questions would be categorized as ‘personal’ or ‘inappropriate’. 

Speaking of inappropriate, Logan realized that he had been staring at the others for longer than socially acceptable, and they were looking back at him with similar scrutiny. Logan couldn’t help but feel as if he had interrupted something private, despite having been summoned and having heard their entire conversation through his door.

“You called?” Logan promoted when they continued to look at him as if he had three heads instead of the respectable one.

“Huh. I thought for sure you were the ‘coffee before talkie’ sort of guy,” Virgil said after a second.

“Not that it should matter to you,” Logan said, making his way to the coffee machine. “But I do enjoy coffee in the morning, and I prefer to have it before socializing.” Granted he preferred to do pretty much anything before socializing, but that was beside the point.

“Yes, but you're so put together!” Roman sounded disappointed at that, like perhaps he had some clever jabs lined up should Logan had appeared disheveled and incoherent. “And using big words!”

“Just because I have not had coffee yet, does not mean I suddenly cease to function.”

“Too bad. That would have been funny.”

Roman and Virgil snickered and began sharing insulting falsehoods about how Logan should have arrived at his kitchen, as if he was not standing right in front of them. They were apparently laboring under the assumption that Logan was in the habit of throwing coffee mugs and swearing colorfully before his morning cup. 

Sometimes--in fact most of the time--Logan did not understand human conversation.

“Virgil and Roman,” Patton berated. “You stop your teasing this instant. Logan has graciously accepted us in his home! The least you can do is act civil towards him.”

“It's not as if he can kick us out, you know.” 

Despite his valiant attempt to keep up appearances, Logan was going to need more than one cup of coffee if he was expected to be dealing with arguing spirits so early in the morning. Logan put another mug under the dispenser as he sipped at his first, letting the morning chatter fall over him. It was almost like companionable silence, being alone in one’s head in a room full of voices. It made him feel like part of the group without the effort of the expectation to contribute something helpful or witty. Logan wondered if the lack of leading questions to drag him into conversation was a ghost thing, or just a Roman, Patton, and Virgil thing. Logan decided it didn’t really matter, because he felt comfortable in a group of people for the first time in his life and he wasn’t about to analyze his feelings on that front just yet. 

After his mother died, Logan was sure that he would never talk to anyone again. He had accepted that life alone, while not better than a life with people, was more comfortable than questioning glances and constant criticism. He had thought that the absolute best outcome was to live out his days alone in a house that no one would bother him. Leaning up against his counter and watching three individuals smile and banter before him, Logan thought he might have to reevaluate his previous assessment. It seemed like he was being accepted as another person of this house, and he hadn’t done anything particularly grand to deserve it. 

He enjoyed being a silent part of this group, whether he truly belonged or not.

“Excuse me,” Logan cut in after a natural pause in the three’s conversation. He was taken with the idea of earning his spot in this group, and had thought of the perfect way to do it. “I am traveling into town today. I have to return the moving truck and reclaim my vehicle. I will be stopping to pick up a few items on my way back. Is there anything you would like me to get for you?” Logan was aware that the ghosts before him probably could not physically handle anything he could bring to them. Regardless, Logan thought it was safe to assume that being stuck in one house for any amount of time would make someone bored with their surroundings. “By which, of course, I mean a poster or something else you would like to view.”

Logan looked up when he received no response from the addressed, and inspected their faces. Given their expressions, Logan assumed he must have said something wrong. Roman and Virgil were both trying very hard to look anywhere but at Logan, and Patton looked about ready to cry. That was quite the opposite to what he had intended, but it seemed Logan was fated to make a mess of things wherever he went. Logan looked away again and recited a block of text he had said so many times, it was practically seared into his mind's eye. 

“I apologize. It seems I have offended you. I occasionally do not have the empathic foresight to understand the consequence of my words. Allow me to offer solace for your dis-”

“No!” Patton yelled, effectively cutting Logan off from his scripted, band aid-esque apology. “We aren’t offended or hurt or anything like that at all. We were just... surprised! People don’t often offer those sorts of things. Especially right after meeting us.”

“What Patton means is,” Roman said, still inspecting the floor as if it were the person to which he was speaking. “Living people don’t think much about life after… everything. They figure we don’t feel things like they do, and that as ghosts, we are somehow the exception to the rule. You thinking that we might want something different to look at is probably the kindest thing someone living has ever offered us.”

Logan was shocked. He didn’t deem his offer anything more than common courtesy. ‘The least he could do,’ as the saying goes.

Virgil looked up at Logan then, looking almost angry. It was a strange expression to see on the man that had told him just hours before that he was likable. “I don’t know what all that shit was about you not having ‘empathic foresight’ because you saying something like that seemed awfully emotionally intelligent to me. Who told you you didn’t understand stuff like that? Because I call bullshit.”

“Language,” Patton said with the enthusiasm of a child doing his homework, which is to say very little enthusiasm indeed.

Logan really hadn’t thought he was offering anything special. He had honestly thought it was a small token to offer to the most understanding and accepting group of people he had ever met, especially after only knowing them for less than twenty four hours. He had thought that volunteering to pick something up would be an offer of goodwill, something he could refer back to when he inevitably fell out of the ghosts’ favor. He did not mean it to be the ‘kindest thing anyone had ever offered’ them.

And another thing he was struggling to wrap his head around was the fact that Virgil thought of him as emotionally intelligent. Logan had lived his whole life being recognized as the odd one out, someone to be ridiculed for his behavior or left alone. He was sure it was because of his lack of knowledge regarding emotions. Virgil’s words contrasted his world view so starkly, it was as if night and day were at war and where they met was a confusing mass of fiery red sky.

Logan stared at Virgil, waiting for him to realize just how wrong he was and take it all back. Surely he would realize his error and retract his statement.

Virgil stared right back, challenging Logan to contradict him. 

After Logan had counted to fifteen, it became clear that Virgil was just as stubborn as he looked. Logan looked away first, glancing at the clock in an attempt to remove himself from this utterly confusing and backwards conversation. “I am leaving at eight thirty. Figure out if you would like something before then and I will try my best to accommodate.” After remembering the state of his bank account, he added, “And please do not request items more than thirty dollars each. I do wish to help you, but I do not wish to go broke because of it.”

The trio nodded energetically. Logan was getting the feeling he was going to regret the thirty dollar limit--that was ninety dollars in total-- but he could not shake the image of Virgil’s strong look out of his mind. If someone like that believed in someone like him, then who was Logan to stifle that belief? He had a group of people who thought he was generous, in fact they were willing to fight to prove it, and Logan be damned if he was going to throw that away. 

Logan grabbed his second mug before padding back into his bedroom. He would sort himself (and his bank account) out from there before gathering up the requests and getting on his way. Leaving by 8:30 should have allowed him to be back by noon, but with the promise of a wild goose chase around town, he was guaranteed to be at least an hour late, maybe two. He should probably grab something to eat before he left if he was planning to avoid public food service. He felt a little strange eating around people who he assumed could not eat, but the alternative was eating out, and that was a thousand times worse.


	2. A Trusty Silver Honda

Logan Brooks, antisocial dictionary calculary computer, did not know where his spike in philanthropy came from. He didn't understand why he agreed--nay, _suggested_ \--to traipse around town looking for nick nacks and band posters. And by the hell did Roman need a sword? 

“A real one, mind you. None of that plastic tomfoolery.”

Right. A real sword. To look at.

Logan was positive he would not find a sword worthy of a prince in town. And certainly not within his price range. 

He punched in “where can i find real swords near me” into Google and sighed heavily at the result. The closest thing he found to a sword vendor in the area was a renaissance shop. And it was an hour past his house in the opposite direction of his car.

Deciding the sword was Future Logan’s problem, the man got into his U-Haul and began the long drive into town. He had seen a quaint little toy store on his way out of town yesterday and decided he would stop there after picking up his car, fulfilling Patton’s request first. Patton was the most vague out of the trio-- asking for “some cute trinkets and plushes, if you can find them!”--but quite possibly the most embarrassing. Logan would probably be asked if he had a kid, buying a basket full of children’s toys. He would have to lie and tell the store clerk something vague about a nephew or godchild. Any other answer would lend himself to a barrage of questions, either out loud, or written all over their faces. Logan preferred online orders, but he had offered to go out and get the items today. Which was rather stupid of him.

Why did he volunteer to do this, again?

Logan pulled into the U-Haul garage and collected his car. The six year old silver Honda revved to life when he turned the key, and Logan couldn’t help but smile. This car represented a constant Logan had cherished through adulthood. He got the car in his senior year of high school from a peer’s father, someone who pitied him enough to drop the price on a barely used car obscenely low. Logan could have felt insulted, but he was getting a reliable car for much less than it was worth. Sometimes, one had to swallow their pride to get where they needed to go.

Since he drove that shiny, practically off-the-lot silver beauty out of a driveway of someone he didn’t even know the first name of, Logan felt as if the world had opened up to him. It was not unlike freedom cutting the chains shackling him to his old house. He had loved his mother to the ends of the earth, but he still wondered to himself whether he ever liked her all that much.

Through the hardest, most trying of times, Logan could count on his car to rev to life and take him where he wanted to go. He once drove to another state for a weekend, just to get away from the suffocation of his life. His car took him everywhere, and now he would use it to take him home. 

*

The toy store was just as uncomfortable and awkward as he assumed it would be. Buying thirty dollars worth of cute toys tended to raise some eyebrows and, just as he suspected, the clerk asked him the name and age of his child.

“Patton, and he is four.” Logan replied, silently pleased to have thought about this on the car ride. If he was put in the position where he could not refuse the existence of his imaginary child, he would use Patton as a cover up. It struck Logan as pleasingly ironic that the most fatherly of the bunch be used to explain away his purchases. He wonders to himself if perhaps he should have used Roman’s name instead as a nod to his childish behavior but ultimately decided against it. Logan worried he might sound reproachful if he mentioned the flamboyant and irritating character. Anyhow, Irony was always a more nuanced and therefore more sophisticated form of humor. 

*

Next, he was on the hunt for posters. Logan had labored under the misconception that he would die before he stepped foot in a Hot Topic, but this was the day he was proven wrong. Logan couldn’t imagine how he looked, probably lost and confused and overwhelmed. Looking around him, he definitely did not have on enough makeup or fashionably ripped clothing to look as though he belonged. Which is to say that he had never seen an open bottle of eye liner in his life and he was currently wearing dress pants and a button up shirt and tie. He stuck out, and everyday in a five mile radius could see it.

Virgil had named a few specific bands Logan could look for, but in that moment, Logan did not think of anything except _get out of here_.

He grabbed an armful of posters--who cared what they said--and almost ran to the front counter. He was expecting another unwelcome conversation, but it seemed as though the employee was just a tad too high to notice Logan’s odd behaviour. Logan counted it as a win.

Logan let out a breath as he slid into the driver’s seat with an armful of posters, advertising bands he would rather stab into his eye than listen to. It was already 12:43. If Logan played fast and loose with the speed limit, he would be back by 3. Unfortunately, Logan had one more stop to make, and he was going to have to pass his house and drive for another hour to get to it. He hoped Virgil, Roman, and Patton realised just how torturous this was for him.

*

Fifty four dollars. That was the price of a renaissance blade one could buy at “Medieval Maidens and Men”. It was not the real deal, obviously, it was made in the last year. But it was shiny and sharp so Logan wasn’t one to complain. His bank account was weeping at the prospect, but Logan could go another week without new books. He had rather expected this, after all. When his next check is deposited into his banking account, Logan will be up with the crack of dawn to peruse the book shop. For now he would make do with his phone screen for literary knowledge. 

As Logan made his way to the checkout counter (three in one day was a new record for him), a glint of silver caught his eye. Taking a detour down one of the isles, Logan identified the object as a silver crested book. That is to say, a three inch thick maroon book with a crest on the cover made up of intricate silver swirls. He felt strangely compelled to open it.

The title page read, “Mythical Beasts and Other Imaginary Creatures of the Night, By Anne Boleyn”

Logan was not one for fairytales. He read fiction books from time to time, but generally historical fiction or classic literature. Never had he read something so nonsensical as “Imaginary Creatures” before. 

Logan was in his car and a fourth of the way home before he even stopped to think whether he needed the book or not. He had bought it, and that was that.

*

Roman fell through the floor trying to see what Logan had bought him. He ended up looking a bit like the Wicked Witch of the West melting, albeit with more enthusiasm than the fictional character. He caught himself when he was eye level with the ground and shot back up, circling Logan who was barely through the door. 

“Stop that. I’ll show it to you properly after I put all of this down.”

Logan had thought it would be more efficient to make one big trip from his car to the house, just like he always did before spending twice as long securing an ungodly amount of shopping bags to his person instead of making two trips like a normal person. Posters, sword, and stuffed animals, as it turned out, were just as hard to transport together as seven bags of groceries.

“Virge! I think he messed up on the posters!” Roman tattled as he continued to circle Logan like a lion with its prey.

“How? I gave him like two bands!” Virgil called before floating in from the living room.

“Yeah, I think that's where I think he went wrong.” Roman pointed accusatory at the six scrolls clumsily balanced under Logan’s arm. “See?”

Logan passed them with an exaggerated sigh. “If you keep insulting me, you won’t ever find out what I got.”

“Hey!” Virgil lamented, darting in front of Logan. “I didn’t say anything insulting yet!”

Logan fought an eye roll and attempted to push past Virgil, whom he promptly passed through. “Eugh,” Logan commented at the feeling of walking through thick, cold air.

“Speak for yourself. You’re not the one who was just barged through,” Virgil commented weakly. He looked a bit green as he rubbed his arm, which was now looking a lot less solid than a moment ago.

Seeing this, Roman sprang up and snatched up Virgil’s flickering (injured? Did this count as an injury?) hand. Virgil did not look surprised by this. In fact, he just stood there looking annoyed and a bit sick. Undeterred, Roman began pressing his face against the affected area in what Logan assumed were kisses. As Roman trailed up Virgil’s arm to his shoulder, he began softening his touch until he was barely brushing his lips to the nape of Virgil’s neck. By the time Roman had finished, Virgil looked entirely relaxed and content, tipping his head forward to rest it against Roman’s shoulder. 

Logan felt he could do nothing but stand and stare, baffled at the PDA. Not that their home could be very well categorized as public. This was their home just as much as it was Logan’s. If anything, Logan was encroaching on a personal moment that he had somehow provoked by walking through Virgil’s left arm. He really wanted to take the time to wonder how something like that worked. Unfortunately, it was not the time. 

“I am sorry,” Logan decided to start with, in case he hurt Virgil in some way. He couldn’t imagine someone walking through his arm, though it was slightly different for him, being solid.

“You apologise a lot,” Virgil commented, slowly lifting his head and turning to look at Logan. 

“...Sorry?” Logan replied, before realizing that was the worst response. 

“I’m glad we settled that,” Roman cut in, effectively cutting off Virgil’s undignified snort.

“Settled… his arm?” Logan asked, still not entirely sure what just transpired. He was a little worried he could have really hurt Virgil, with Roman’s passionate response.

“Well sure, dismemberment is slightly uncomfortable,” Roman said, looking like he just said a perfectly normal string of words when nothing could be farther from the truth. “But also we’ve settled that you're not a homophobe.”

“Yay!” Virgil cheered, a touch sarcastically.

Logan blinked, offended. “You thought I was homophobic?”

“Well, we didn’t _think_ , per say… we just were making sure,” Virgil clarified.

“I’m not.”

“We know! At least, now we know,” Roman grinned.

“You could have just asked me. Instead of,” Logan waved his arms to indicate the apparent set up that had just transpired. “Whatever you did.”

“Well, we could have not spent the whole day planning an elaborate plot to passionately declare our love in front of you with the added allure of concern for one another, but where’s the fun in that?”

“You spent all day planning this?”

“Let it be known that it was not my idea to play the damsel in distress,” Virgil piped up.

“If I knew you were just going to stare off into space like a kicked puppy,” Roman squalked. “Perhaps I would have given you a different role!”

“What was I supposed to do, cry out in pain and roll around on the floor?”

“That would have been better than-”

“I hate to interrupt your lovers' quarrel,” Logan said. “But I am not going to stand here forever waiting to show you your gifts. Can one of you go get Patton?”

Roman stuck out his tongue, exactly like a child, and sunk through the floor.

Virgil scowled back at him until he was out of sight, upon which Virgil’s face shifted into something very soft. “He means well. He is a bloody drama queen, though.”

Logan laughed and set his prizes out on the kitchen table. “You don’t have to tell me that. I already figured that one on my own.”

“Yeah, sorry about the theatrics.”

“Yes, well. I understand coming out is not an easy thing to do, even if it is to a stranger. I would know.”

Patton and Roman walked in just then, wearing incredibly smug expressions.

“You owe me ten bucks!” Patton chirped to Virgil, who was smiling ruefully at the declaration. 

“There goes my betting money,” Virgil sighed.

“Wait, you bet on whether or not I was gay? And you thought I was a homophobe?!”

“To be fair, we didn’t really think you were a homophobe. Roman just likes to take precaution.”

“That is not the point here!”

“So what if we did! We were right, anyhow.”

“Roman, you are not helping.”

“That was a little tactless of us, I’ll admit,” Patton contributed. “But what were we to do? Life after death gets boring.”

Logan took a deep breath, counted to six, and let it out. This was not worth arguing over. If anything, he should be glad that the three entities in his kitchen were accepting individuals.

“Let’s start over. Hello, my name is Logan and I am not homophobic. In fact, I am gay myself. Nice to meet you.”

“If that's how you usually go about introducing yourself, I can see why you are having issues,” Roman inserted, helpful as ever.

“My name is Patton! And I am gay too!” Patton declared cheerfully. “And also not a homophobe!” 

“Hi I’m Virgil and gay not a homophobe.”

“My name is Roman and _I_ -”

“Okay, yes we get it. Everyone is gay and clearly not against the LGBTQ community. I’m glad we settled that.” Logan said, feeling like they had said “homophobe” so many times was barely a word any more. “Now, do you want to see what I got you, or not?”

“You cut me off!” Roman sputtered.

“Yes, but I also spent twenty five more dollars on you than anyone else, so I figure it evens out.”

“Oh, Virgil,” Roman teased. “Someone else is in the market for my hand! Whatever shall we do?”

Virgil kissed Roman on the nose before slapping his wrist. “You be quiet. I want to see my posters.”

“Patton will be the first one to see his things because he is being patient and quiet,” Logan said pointedly, before turning his back to the pair. Having any sort of conversation with these three felt like wrangling children. 

He began arranging Patton’s items on the table. In the end, Logan had bought three plush toys and a set of wooden animal figurines that Logan decided were cute enough to be appreciated, without being anatomically incorrect. There were a multitude of stuffed animals and play things in the store that had eyes three sizes too large, and Logan refused to buy any of them. Instead, he got a white kitten, about the size of his palm; a blue elephant that was about twice the cat; and a classic brown teddy bear with a red bow pinned to its front. The animal figurines were all about two inches long and one and an inch tall, and were stained different shades of tan and brown. Why Patton wanted a bunch of kids toys to look at, he could not immagine. But the point of this exercise was not to dig into his roommate’s personal lives, it was to build their trust and prove he is willing to put their needs beside his.

“I found it slightly difficult to decide on objects you would deem suitable, as you gave me very little guidance,” Logan began, feeling the need to explain himself in case they were not up to standard.

“Logan,” Patton breathed, squatting down to look closely at the wooden farm scene. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”

Logan kept forgetting this was such a big thing for his house-dwelling ghosts. Oftentimes, Logan would have to go through all sorts of trouble just to be deemed as acceptable in the eyes of society. Never had his suffering brought such joy to the faces of his audience.

“Me next!” Virgil shouted pointing very enthusiastically at his rolled up papers. He looked like a kid at christmas and his excitement made Logan inexplicably sad.

Rearranging Patton’s items to the edge of the table, Logan unwrapped the posters and began placing the toys at the corners of each one so they would stay open. Virgil floated up to get a better view.

“Nirvana. Nice.”

Logan looked at the poster Virgil was reffering to. It was entirely black except for a sick-looking yellow smiley face. 

“I do not understand your subculture.”

Virgil grinned. “You do know half of these are movie posters, right?”

Logan decided not to deign that with a response, heaving the last item up onto the table. He unwrapped the tissue paper adorned weapon with care, hoping to save the paper should he need it in the future.

“Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up!” Roman chanted, bringing his face so close to the sword Logan was worried his unwrapping was going to result in a hand through Roman’s face. With a final tug, the tissue paper fell away, revealing the majestic sword. The guard was made up of a web of silver strands that haloed the leather-bound grip and the blade itself was a bright metal that glinted in the dim light of the kitchen. Even for a man that knew nothing of classic weaponry, Logan knew it was beautiful.

“That’s a rapier,” Roman said, astonished. “Not an authentic one, but it’s very well made, regardless.”

He then stuck out his hand, and gripped the sword. Logan was just about to remind him that he couldn’t hold things, when Roman brought his other hand up and lifted his prize off the table. 

Well, there goes the theory that they couldn’t hold anything. Logan was suddenly struck with the memory of Virgil having touched his curtains that morning. If he had only remembered that earlier; it may have saved him the trouble of moaning about it on his way to the store.

Logan thought he had done exceptionally well not to ask too many questions about ghosts to his companions, but seeing Roman swing around a sword--sorry, a _rapier_ \--Logan could not help but ask.

“How does one hold things if they are not solid?”

Patton looked up from admiring his wooden figures and shrugged. “It’s not as simple as Roman’s making it look, if that's what you want to know. We sort of have to focus our energy really hard into our hands and then hope we don't pass through. Some people are naturally better at it that others, I think, because I can't seem to get a hang of it at all, but Roman’s always been fairly good at it.”

“I have to be an expert! How else would I protect my castle?” Roman interjected, swinging the sword a little close for comfort.

“I hate to break it to you, Oh Mighty Prince, but we live in a commoners home,” Virgil snickered.

Logan rolled his eyes at being referred to as a commoner and took a step out of slashing range.

“But my lovely love, wherever you live is a place of royalty to me!” Roman cried, placing the sword on the table and flinging himself at Virgil. He seemed to be a lot more affectionate now that it had been confirmed Logan was not against his relationship. He wondered if that had something to do with his life before death.

Logan felt weirdly content in this strange new world he had been thrust into. It seemed every scientific law he had ever learned was made to be annihilated by the three inefable beings. He should not have felt so at home amongst this chaos, but for some reason, Logan found himself smiling right along with Patton, who was observing the scene with a fatherly fondness. It was confusing and difficult, living with ghosts, but at the same time it was simpler and easier than the whole of Logan’s existence so far. He sat down in his kitchen chair and relaxed, watching a new chapter of his life unfold before him.


End file.
